Of Sketches and Sun
by Corrupted Kestrel
Summary: A collection of short stories and small plot bunnies that actually made it past the drawing board. Some humor, some drama, some utter randomness. Title refers to chapter one.
1. Of Sketches and Sun

Disclaimer: I own nothing of Harry Potter, Hogwarts, or Severus Snape. I do own Miss Brennan, but since she's just a nobody-character, and I randomly picked her name off a list, I'm not sure that's something to be particularly proud of XD

A/N: Yes, this is my first-ever published story, and I'll probably take it down in a fit of embarrassment someday, but I actually think I did pretty well with it. It's not anything special, but since I usually suck at introspection, this is quite impressive. This just sort of gradually formed in my head, and the basic plot (not that there's much of one) literally spent years floating about in there. I finally got sick of it, chose a setting and wrote it down.

I appreciate constructive criticism, but no flames, please; I'm insecure enough as-is D:

Edit 5/14/10: Changed the wording of the first sentence to eliminate repetition; while it was intentional at the time, looking back on it, it seems amateurish. (Which I am, but still.) Original wording was "...curled up in a random window in a random hallway, drawing yet another sketch of yet another classmate." Also, I realized that the second paragraph made it sound as though Ron is a seventh-year, and although I suppose this could be AU, that's not what I was going for.

* * *

The girl was quite comfortable in her little nook, curled up in a window in her favorite corridor, drawing a sketch of one of her classmates. The sun shone over her shoulder, illuminating her sketchbook and making shadows dance over the floor whenever she shifted her position. Her hair was escaping from the low ponytail she had put it in just before Potions, and she kept tucking the stray strands behind her ears, but they seemed to insist on irritating her.

Her hobby of drawing nearly every person she met was unknown to most; before she had come to Hogwarts, she had suffered embarrassment several times for it, and had long ago decided to keep it a secret if possible. As a matter of fact, the only reason the people who knew _did_ know was because they had found her book--she'd had to explain herself to Ron Weasley in front of him, his friends, and half of the Seventh-Year Gryffindors because he had mistaken it for a copy of _Quidditch Through the Ages._ Which she couldn't blame him for, she thought wryly, considering she'd Charmed it to look that way. She'd been careful not to make that mistake again, instead making it look like an old, well-worn diary.

She had completed a sketch of Lavender Brown, and was beginning on one of a Ravenclaw boy she had passed on her way to Transfiguration earlier that day, when her sketchbook was suddenly pulled from her hands. She blinked at the spot where it had been, then looked up to see who had taken it. It was with a sharp intake of breath that she realized it was none other than her oh-so-_beloved_ Potions professor, Severus Snape. Well, it wasn't like she hated him, she corrected mentally, it was just that he was known for his cutting remarks, and it was for this reason that she would rather he not flip through her book, especially considering she had drawn all the professors…including him. And _especially_ considering he was one of the few that she had bothered to draw full-body, rather than simply a headshot. His billowing robes cut a far too impressive figure to omit.

She watched silently as Professor Snape flicked backwards through the pages, glancing at each sketch before moving to the next.

"Do you have an obsession with your classmates, Miss Brennan?" he murmured, not even glancing up at her.

"N-No, sir," the girl replied, clearing her throat. "It's just…a hobby. Something to remember my time here by, I suppose."

He showed no signs that he had heard her, but a few minutes later, an eyebrow rose as he finally stopped flipping through her book. She swallowed, knowing exactly which picture he was looking at. A long moment passed, and then he looked up at her. She wished fervently that he wasn't such a master at hiding his emotions; maybe then she would know how to expect him to react. Would he shout at her? Doubtful, else he would have done it already. Would he belittle her as he had a knack for doing, voice deceptively quiet? Quite possibly, and she'd come out feeling worse than if he _had_ shouted at her. Would he simply dock ten points and confiscate her book? She hoped not, though if he happened to be in a bad mood…

The different possibilities (none of them particularly pleasant) were still presenting themselves to her several moments later, so she was shocked when he simply said, "You draw quite well, Miss Brennan," and handed her book back to her before walking away.

The girl stared after him, barely regaining her voice in time to say, "T-Thank you, Professor."

* * *

So, what'd you think? It's probably infuriatingly confusing, since my logic usually doesn't make any sense to anyone else. And don't ask why I'm talking about logic, it just seemed like the logical thing to do XP


	2. Of Thestrals and Pudding

AN: Well, nearly two years later, and here I am, updating with a second story. In my mind, this is a different girl, possibly in Slytherin, though I don't think Ron would have a civil conversation with a Slytherin, so it might be better to imagine her in Ravenclaw or as the girl from the first story. You could even imagine her as a guy, since there's nothing to identify her as either gender. Whatever you want XD

And I haven't read OotP in ages, so I'm sort of adlibbing it.

* * *

"What are those?" I heard Harry Potter ask in shock. When I turned to look at him, he was staring at something off in the distance. I followed his gaze, but saw nothing unusual—unless he was talking about the Thestrals, which were waiting patiently for the students to load up into the carriages.

"What are what?" Potter's best friend, Ron Weasley, asked.

"Those things pulling the carriages. They weren't there last year."

"What things? There's nothing there, mate," Weasley said, frowning. "I think you're seeing things."

"No, I'm not. They're _right there_," Potter insisted, pointing.

"Do you mean the Thestrals?" I questioned, randomly butting into the conversation like I usually do. I have a bad habit of that; I'll listen in to someone's discussion and then interrupt whenever I have something to add. I've been told it's quite annoying and that I should make an effort to stop. ...Oops.

"The what?" Potter asked, screwing up his face in confusion.

"The Thestrals. You can only see them if you've seen death," I replied casually. This caused different reactions from all three—Potter looked like his puppy had died, Weasley looked shocked and disgusted, and Hermione Granger, the brains of the group, looked intrigued and a bit sad.

"So you can see them?" Granger inquired carefully, as though it'd set me off or something.

"Yep," I answered, almost cheerfully. "Ever since winter break of second year."

"Who'd you see die?" Weasley asked bluntly, causing Granger to swat him on the back of the head with a scandalized, "_Ron!"_

"My great-uncle. He died right in front of the whole family."

"Oh my God," Granger gasped, covering her mouth with her hands. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," I said, waving dismissively. "The malodorous crank waited until Christmas dinner and keeled over in the middle of pudding. Once everyone got over their shock, we were all more relieved than anything."

Granger was appalled. "That's rather callous of you."

I shook my head and gave her a wry look. "Let me just put it this way. He was 113 and that was approximately how many seconds anyone could bear to be in his presence before they wanted to Avada him themselves."

* * *

Shorter than the first one, but that was more of a introspective kind of story—this one brought in the humor genre more. I don't remember where exactly I got this idea, but today I was looking through a document on my computer filled with funny things I've thought of, said, or done, and the very last bit of this story was in there. So I took it, fleshed it out (a lot), and thought, "Hey, this actually doesn't suck!" XD


End file.
